Heart of an Angel
by BluebellsDreamer
Summary: Three years have passed since the Reichenbatch fall and John Watson finds it difficult to cope when his best friend returns from the grave, but what John doesn't know is that he never really left. (A lot of plot with hints of Johnlock, but later hopefully pure Johnlock)
1. The Time Inbetween

Chapter One

The Time Inbetween

Sherlock watched the slumped shoulders of John Watson as he stood infront of the grave. Mrs Hudson had left a few moments ago and left him alone by the headstone. Sherlock longed to go to him, wrap his arms around him and comfort him. Maybe Moriarty was right, Maybe Sherlock was ordinary. If he was it was John's fault. John had always supplied the emotion and sensitivity where it was required, because that's what set Sherlock apart. He did not care, he was not sensitive. Those things are what made him extraordinary. Maybe John's compassion had rubbed off on him. Or just maybe Sherlock always had the ability to care just John was the first to try to care about him.

John turned and walked slowly back up the path after Mrs Hudson. He'd missed his chance. He couldn't return now anyway, it would ruin the whole point of faking his death in the first place. No he needed the world to forget about Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock could see he was masking his grief with anger, not much of it and not very well, but he was still doing it. "I am truly sorry John." Sherlock wispered before turning away and walking back to the pavement. There he picked up the motorcycle helmet, in the back box of the large black motorcycle leaning against the curb, pulled it on, over his dark curls and defined cheekbones, and mounted the bike, kicked it into life and roared away long coat flapping in the wind. He couldn't take a cab any more. It was too risky, he needed to stay hidden a while longer. He just hoped it didn't take the world too long to forget about Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to return to John. He never realized how much he cared about him until he was having that phone call. It had suddenly hit him what he would be leaving behind and that He did care.

Although he was hidden Sherlock never truly left John. He watched over him from the shadows. After a while of grieving, John tried to carry on with his life but now and then, when he though no one was watching he would retreat inside his-self and allow the overwhelming loneliness to consume him and his grief to creep back. But Sherlock saw these times and he felt as though his heart was being cracked each time. Sometimes when he was thinking very deeply or hard, or he just was restless or troubled, he would sneak into 221b and sit on the open windowsill in John's room and watch his slack face whilst he slept. One night he thought John had woken up because he suddenly shouted "SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock jumped to his feet in alarm and whirled round, to his reliefe John was still asleep, but Sherlock did feel slightly dissappointed, he did want to return to his friend very badly. John continued to scream "SHERLOCK! NO, DON'T DO IT! DON'T JUMP! STOP! SHERLOCK! DON'T LEAVE ME, SHERLOCK!"

He writhed and screamed in his sleep and Sherlock longed to go and comfort him to tell him, that he didn't leave him, and that he wasn't really dead, he wanted to make it right but he couldn't so he clentched his fists and climbed out of the window and stood on the ledge to the left seconds before Mrs Hudson came bursting into the room! She roused john and sat down on the side of the bed next to him. "I just miss him." John wispered hugging the knees he'd brought up to his chin and closing his eyes. A single tear rolled down his face and splashed onto his pijama-ed knee. Mrs Hudson took his hand and sat with him for a while. Sherlock watched through the edge of the glass three fingertips pressed against the glass longing to go to them. A solitary tear rolled down his face and he wiped it away.

Three years passed until the world had forgotten about Sherlock Holmes. Finally he could return and he was ready!


	2. The Return

Chapter Two

The Return

John walked though London to Sarah's house alone. He gazed around at the buildings, people and cars, everyone but him, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson had moved on and forgotten Sherlock. John no longer had the energy to summon tears for his dead friend. He wondered how these people could forget about that special man, the way his eyes changed colours at different angles and in different lights, from green to blue to grey, and the way they lit up on a particularly difficult case, his excited energy that was so like a childs, and his magnificent brain. John would watch him on those cases and get lost in the mystery that was Sherlock. He longed for him back but he also didn't want him to ever return! He wanted him back because he was his bestfriend and he made him complete, but he didn't want him back because, so much has changed, he had met Sarah and he thought he loved her but Sherlock would never understand. He never understood women. Also John was moving on with his life and he didn't really see where Sherlock would fit anymore. John shook his head, this conflict was insanity because Sherlock was never coming back, John him-self had felt the lack of pulse in his bestfriends wrist.

When John returned from Sarah's he walked into the appartment and sunk into the leather armchair, that he used to occupy, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, he had walked all the way to Sarah's and back, she had offered to call him a cab but he refused. She just didn't understand, he could never get a cab again, not without being reminded of him. His smell, his humour, even his hatred for Anderson. A small smile grew on John's face as the hole in his chest took a nasty throb! His stomache growled at him, he hadn't eaten in a few days and he was feeling weak, he knew he needed to eat but he just couldn't bring him-self to do it. John sat there well into the night listening to the sounds of the street below, one hand draped lightly over the violin on the small table beside him. He never could bring him-self to throw out Sherlock's things, every time he tried he just thought: What if he comes back? John knew that was ridiculous but with Sherlock he wasn't quite so sure.

It was about Midnight, when there came a nock on the door and Mrs Hudson entered. "Doctor Watson, you have a visitor." She said, poking her head round the door.

John pushed himself up out of his slouch and straightened his clothes and replied "Send them in."

Mrs Hudson shuffled out and a tall slim man wearing a black motorcycle helmet and a long black coat, stepped into the room. The man turned and shut the door before facing John. John surveyed the man for a moment before getting to his feet and walking right up to him. "You seem familiar some how. Who are you?"

The man tilted his head down a bit, to look into John's face, and clasped his hands behind his back with a very straight and rigid posture. John gasped and stuttered, eyes widening in shock "B...B...But it can't be! Sh...Sherlock?"

The man reached up and pulled the helmet off to reveal his dark curls, defined cheekbones, glinting eyes and mischevious grin. Sherlock Holmes smiled down at John Watson's conflicted face. He gazed into those deep brown eyes that were usually so full of happiness and determination, but now were filled with grief and confusion. "But you fell! I saw you! Dammit Sherlock! You had no pulse!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but John cut him off "How could you do that to me? How could you just leave me like that? You just dumped me for THREE YEARS! Sherlock! THREE YEARS! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! I GRIEVED FOR YOU AND NOW YOU JUST COME SWANNING BACK IN HERE LIKE NOTHING HAS CHANGED! YOU COMPLETE ARSEHOLE!" He yelled then suddenly he pulled his arm back and punched Sherlock in the jaw!

Sherlock stumbled backwards a few steps and put a hand to his jaw. "John calm down." He said "Look I know your angery but I couldn't comeback, I needed the world to forget about me, so we could be safe." Sherlock suddenly bit his toungue to refrain from saying anymore. He had nearly spoken about his feelings! What was happening to him? Moriarty was right! He had gone soft! He had learnt to care!

John was staring at him looking hurt "So you left me for three years because you where worried about what the press might say?" He sunk back into the leather armchair, then leapt up immediatly looking sheepish before sidling over to the sofa and perching on that instead.

Sherlock looked Directly into John's eyes again but this time he had a perfect mask of Marble in place" No! I did not return because Moriarty did not die on that roof top. Why can't you just think John! There was no where near enough blood! No, I believe he survived but only just, so I needed those three years to find him, find out what he's up to." With that Sherlock turned briskly and swept from the room, his long coat flapping in that painfully familiar way.

As soon as John heard his footsteps fade into silence, he picked up the nearest cushion and hugged it close to his chest and began to shake uncontrolably. What was he going to do? Did Sherlock expect everything to just go back to how it was? It couldn't! John wishedd it could but the painful reality was that it couldn't!

After sitting there for a few hours, mulling this all over in his mind, John felt an itching tiredness in his eyes and his eyelids began to droop shut, so he got to his feet, stretching and yawning, the cushion fell to the floor with a muffled thump. John bent down picked it up, replaced it on the sofa and walked slowly out of the room, off to bed, rubbing his eyes.


	3. Lost Soul

Chapter Three

Lost Soul

After Sherlock walked out the door he pulled the motorcycle helmet back over his head, It was crucial that John be the only one who knows of his return. John wouldn't tell anyone, he was certain of that fact, who could he tell? If he started telling people his bestfriend who'd been dead for three years, was alive they would accuse him of insanity! No, John was clever, for an average human. Yes, John would hold his tongue.

Outside 221b he turned and looked up at the black door thinking of how different John was now.A part of him wished it could go back to how it was, that was the part of him john had made, but the pure stone Sherlock, that didn't have friends Told him that he must get over such petty feelings. He must find Moriarty! Sherlock strode over to his motorcycle, that was leaning against the curb, mounted it and kicked it into life. He zipped away through London his long coat flapping in the wind behind him, until he reached a small block of flats on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't really his kind of place but he needed somewhere to lie low for a while.

Sherlock Parked the bike, dismounted and rushed up the stairs the tails of his coat whipping round every bend in the stair. At his apartment he began to shake, He raised the key to unlock the door but it took him a few attempts to get it into the lock. Finally he managed it and he burst into the dingy flat and slammed the door behind him. Numbly he pulled the helmet off of his head adn let it fall to the floor with a loud thud. He stumbled forward Unbuttoning his coat and letting it fall to the floor. Just before he reached his brown second-hand sofa, he tore the blue scarf from his throat and threw it to the ground. Collapsing on the sofa he began to shake uncontrollably and an emotion he had only experienced once in his entire life rolled over him! He buried his face in his hands, his long fingers Pushed his dark curls so they stuck up in all directions, and felt his eyes begin to sting! Through all the images and thoughts that were racing through his brain, only one rose to the surface, The look of hurt, anger and greif in John's eyes when he realized Sherlock wasn't dead. Why did he care so much that John was hurt? Why did he care at all? What was happening to him?

Sherlock raised his head and pressed his palms together under his chin. His eyes were red and watery and the skin around them was damp with salty tears. He blinked hard several times to try to clear the unwanted tears away. He sucked in his breath and tansed his face to try to recompose himself. Eventually he managed it. Sighing he got to his feet and walked slowly into his shabby bathroom. There he switched onthe light and began to fill the sink full of cold water, he then stood and observed his reflection in the mirror. His lip was cut and smarting from where John had struck him. He deserved it he supposed. A small smile lit his face, Some of his old John was still in there! John had punched him but Sherlock could tell he still cared for him because, he had seen what John was capable of when he punched the police officer who had called Sherlock a freak. He knew the way John punched him was a way he caused the least amount of damage as possible, such as, when Sherlock asked him to punch him. And now even with all that anger directed at him, John still didn't want to hurt Sherlock. Not really.

He switched off the tap, Splashed his face a few times to clear his head, patted it down with a towel before emptying the sink and walking into his dark bedroom. He stripped off his tight shirt and smart black trousers, and pulled on a pair of white pijamas with blue horizontal stripes, and clambered under his navy duvet and fell into a deep sleep full of strange, twisted, confused dreams that just reflected how he'd been feeling over the past three years.


	4. A New Life

Chapter Four

A new life

The next morning John was woken by his alarm for his work at the hospital. As soon as he opened his eyes he could feel an odd sensation on his chest. He felt as though a weight he'd been carrying, for so long he hadn't known it had existed, had lifted only to be immediatly replaced with a new one. Sherlock was alive, and the knowledge was tearing john apart from the inside out! He didn't understand the knotted emotions that where tangling themselves up inside him. Everytime he thought of the meeting last night, his stomache churned horribly.

John sighed, Sherlock had said he would be trying to find Moriarty so with any luck, he wouldn't bother him. John pushed himself up out of bed and began to dress. When John was brushing his teeth infront of the mirror he noticed a slight grazing on his knuckles where he had struck Sherlock. A pang of guilt hit him. His bestfriend returns after three years and what does John do? Punch him in the face! Ok the stuck up git deserved it - John thought to himself - but still it wasn't very welcoming. Most people would hug each other, mabe even cry, but Sherlock and John weren't really 'Most people' that had been shown to them clearly every day they were together. Finally John left for work and arrived just on time.

That lunch time he popped out to meet his Fiancee Sarah in a coffee shop to talk about the wedding. They were to get married three months from next saturday. As they sat there talking about decourations, invitations, music and all other wedding paraphernaliar, a feeling of pure wrongness settled over him. and finally when lunch was over and he kissed sarah goodbye, the feeling intesified. It just didn't feel right with her at the moment. Maybe he was just tired. Yes, that would be it, He'll go home and sleep it off and then tomorrow they'll meet up and it will all be back to normal, John assured himself.

Finally when he'd finished work he walked home and collapsed into an armchair and closed his eyes. "Ah! Good you're home!"

John jumped, his eyes flying open! "Sherlock!' He shouted 'What, the, hell, are you doing here?" He punctuated each word, trying to control the swell of emotion that arose inside him.

"I've got to find Moriarty. I thought I made that clear last night!" Replied Sherlock simply.

John's spirits rose despite the fact that he had convinced himself this was the last thing he wanted "No! Absolutly not! I've already had enough trouble and excitement through both you and the army to fill a thousand life times!"

Sherlock's eyes glinted as he said "Well I suppose I'll just have to go it alone then." He turned and made for the door but John called after him in a resigned kind of voice "Wait, I've just got to get my coat."

Sherlock grinned widely for a moment before composing himself, turning to face John and saying "Well hurry up then I've already lost three years, I've got no more time to waste!"

A few moments later and they were both sitting in a Taxi cruising through London. It was almost like old times. Almost.


	5. The Hunt Begins

Chapter Five

The Hunt Begins

"I've spent the past three years looking into any leads as to where Moriarty might be Lieing low, although I am certain that he will have been doing the exact same thing about me." Sherlock and John where sat in the back of a taxi, Sherlock was being his usual self, chattering about the case at hand. John sat there in silence, only half listening to him, he was delighted that this was happening and that he was getting part of his old life with Sherlock back, but something had changed. Something that confused John and scared him had risen to the surface when Sherlock had returned. It was unwanted and confused him. Everytime he looked a Sherlock, an unpleasant sensation stirred in the pit of his stomache. What was happening to him?

John was pulled out of his revery, by the taxi crunching to a halt outside of a tall dilapidated block of flats. Sherlock got out and handed the driver some notes, while John stepped out and slammed the door behind him. As the taxi drew away, Sherlock moved to stand side-by-side with John. Sherlock was a head taller than John, so when Sherlock began to speak, John had to raise his head to see Sherlock's face. "I have narrowed down Moriarty's flat to three possible locations. Now if this is Moriarty's true place of residence, I have no doubt that he will be ready and waiting for us." Sherlock turned to look at John, "Shall we?" He said with a slight glint in his eye.

Inside the building they found a metal stair case, it was coated with rust and screached horrifically when weight was applied to it "I highly doubt Moriarty would choose to stay here." John commented remembering Moriarty's spotless Westwood suit as he stared into a filthy puddle that had leaked onto the floor from a hole in the roof. "Ah! That, John, is what makes it so perfect. A normal person, who is no where near the intellectual level me and Moriarty are on, would think this, so it is the perfect place to hide because they would never think to look here. Although, he is not dealing with an ordinary person."

"So why are we here then? Because he knows that you are not ordinary so he would have made it more of a challenge." John asked.

"We're here because when...' Sherlock broke off and an odd expression passed across his usually marble like face, 'Er, the last time I saw Moriarty,' he coninued more slowly before picking up his usual self again, 'Moriarty told me that I was ordinary. So I am toying with the possibility that he still believes this and is hiding from me as though I was so."

"But you're not!" John exclaimed, then, realizing what he'd said, flushed scarlet and quickly looked away from his companion. Sherlock Surveyed his short friend with curiousity, and proceeded to deduce him, within seconds Sherlock knew but he did not understand. He hated not understanding! The sound of john clearing his throat, brought him out of his reverie. Sherlock looked up and saw john had climbed to the top of the rickety stair case and was stood outside of a dilapidated blue door. Sherlock bounded up the last few steps until he stood beside his companion. It felt so natural to have John Watson beside him that he couldn't contain the grin that lit his face. "I see that hasn't changed then." John commented with a slight bit of humour.

"You see what hasn't changed?" Sherlock asked some-what surprised but masking it with a distracted tone.

"Your obvious love for murder, danger and near death experiences." John replied cocking his gun.

Sherlock smiled fondly and John's incorrect deduction but decided it wouldn't be prudent to correct him at this moment in time he simply said "Very perceptive deduction John, but what is life with out a little adventure?" With that he planted a hard kick onto the door, sending it swinging inwards!


	6. And So It Begins

Chapter Six

And so it begins

John ran into the room first gun held out infront of him scanning it for immediate threats. Taking in his surroundings John noticed the flat was completely empty accept for a small wooden table in the centre of the room with a piece of folded paper on it. John felt the familiar brush of a taller shoulder against his own and knew Sherlock had followed him. A thrill ran through John and he felt a strange skipping sensation in his chest at the tiny moment of contact between them. What was going on? Part of John was telling him he knew exactly what was going on, but the stronger soldier part of him it up. More to get away from Sherlock and clear his head than anything else, John muttered something about checking the other rooms and kicked each door in turn, inwards scanning the room before carrying onto the next one.

Sherlock let him go, he knew John wouldn't find anything but he also knew there was no point arguing with John especially when he needed him for the more sensitive issues and dealing with Lestrade. Sherlock walked upto the table, stowing his gun in the waistband of his suit trousers, and picked up the piece of paper. Un-folding it, Sherlock saw black elegant writing covering the white surface. His mind went into overload deducing the type of pen that was used to write it, how the owner of the pen must have held it, what type of paper they had used etc. He screwed up his eyes and pressed his palm to his forehead, he wished he could switch it off sometimes! He would need some nicotine patches soon. Grateful that John was still busy checking the rooms, Sherlock opened his eyes and went back to the note, ignoring the deductions he was making. The note said:

I'm disappointed Sherly. I guess I was right, you are ordinary. I knew it already, of course, but I just hoped I was wrong. I am so bored, you see. You were the only real distraction I had and now I can't even rely on you. When you decide to become interesting, come and find me. I had so many plans for us Sherlock. The game is far from over

-JM

Sherlock frowned, these new emotions, the head aches, the incorrect deductions, Maybe Moriarty was right, He was ordinary! Stuffing the not into his coat pocket, Sherlock called out to John "John! We're leaving!" At that he turned and rushed out of the room and down the steps. He needed to think. He needed his nicotine patches and his violin! Now!

At the bottom of the steps he stopped and waited for John. When he didn't appear Immediatly Sherlock shouted up the stairs "Come on John!"

John's reply echoed down the steps "I'm coming!' And he said a it quieter although Sherlock could still hear him, 'You bloody un-grateful git! Swanning around the place with your collar turned up so you look cool!" Finally he reached the bottom and Sherlock ignoring the insults rushed off again hailing the next cab that drove by. And climbing in John following close behind. The can drive was silent and when they reached Baker Street Sherlock climbed out and swept into 221b leaving John to pay the cabbie.

When John got inside he found Sherlock rummaging through the entire flat searching desperately for something. "Where are my nicotine patches? What have you done with them? I need them!" Sherlock said angrily at John, with out turning.

"I threw them out."

"What? Why?" Sherlock said turning to look at John eyes wide with shock.

"You were dead! I moved on with my life!" John replied as if explaining something to a small child.

Sherlock sneered at him and said "What life?"

John's face flushed bright red with rage. "Right! That is it! Get out!"

"Excuse me?" Sherlock said his eyebrows rising.

"You heard me! Get out!" John said his voice dangerously calm

"You aren't serious." Sherlock stated

"Deadly." John stared at him with cold anger filled eyes.

"But, why?" Sherlock said incredulously.

"Because you are biggest twat I have ever met! and yes you may be amazing and all that but you are such an insensitive bastard! when it comes to anyone other than yourself! You left, Sherlock! I thought you were dead, for THREE years, and then you come swanning back in here like nothing ever happened, and you just expect everything to go back to the way it was! It can't! You hurt me Sherlock and I need to have time to make sure you are actually real and I'm not going crazy, hallucinating that my best friend is back!" John yelled this at him, siphoning off some of his pent up rage.

Sherlock snorted "Don't be stupid John! Of course you're not crazy. Also you don't really want me to leave. You're body language is screaming that you want anything but that." He flashed John a charming smile as he spoke the last words, causing John to blush fiercely. John held onto his anger and stood his ground glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock merely ignored him and went back to rummaging in drawers. John let out a roar of pure exasperation and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

When he got outside John strode briskly down the street, his feet pounding the pavement and his hands curled into fists in his coat pockets. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket but he ignored it and carried on walking. After wondering the streets for a few hours he came to a park, he followed one of the paths and sunk slowly into one of the benches. With a sigh he lent back against the bench his eyes shut, and felt his anger ebb away.

He wasn't really angry with Sherlock. He was confused, upset, relieved and the happiest he'd been in a long time. John sat there and began to sort through his emotions in the dark. His phone buzzed again, he ignored it. He was relieved because he had his best friend back - if that's what he could call Sherlock, there isn't really a title that covers their relationship - he was upset because the man he had trusted most in the world had betrayed him, he had made him believe that he was dead for three years and that had hurt John a lot. He was so happy that he was getting his old life back before Moriarty had ruined it. Ever since Sherlock had come back, John had started to feel something change inside him. At first he put it down to seeing his best friend come back from the dead, but now he wasn't so sure, the gaping hole Sherlock had left in his chest was being filled again and it felt right being with him. His phone buzzed again. In all his life he hadn't felt this happy or complete with anyone. But what does it mean? John was straight! Wasn't he? John put his head in his hands, his elbow leaning on his knees, and made a frustrated sound into his palms, after a moment he realised there were tears on his cheeks! He wiped them away angrily. His phone began to buzz insistently, and John realised he was being rung. Pulling out the phone, he answered it without checking the caller ID and snapped into the receiver "What?"

"John?" A female voice replied.

John's eyes widened, he had completely forgotten about Mary! Like she didn't even exist! He ran his free hand through his hair and said "Oh! Hi Mary, sorry! Long day." He knew it was a crap excuse but what else was he supposed to say? 'Oh hi Mary, sorry my best friend has just come back from the dead and annoyed the hell out of me and I think I am attracted to him even though I am straight,'? No that wouldn't do! She would undoubtedly put him in a psychiatric ward and have him sectioned! No, that was the best he could tell her. It wasn't exactly a lie, he told himself, just not the whole truth.

"Oh! Don't worry about it honey. I was just wondering if you wanted to stay over tonight?"

It was a tempting offer but John thought of Sherlock back at 221b and groaned internally, despite the leap of pleasure in his gut at the thought of going home once more to that brilliant man. "I'm so sorry, Mary, but I can't. I've got a lot of work to sort through." That wasn't really a lie, Sherlock would defiantly drag John into his hunt for Moriarty so he would undoubtedly be awake half the night, wether he intended to go to Mary's or not.

"Okay! That's fine, just make sure you don't work too hard sweetie. How about lunch tomorrow? We can look at some more caterers?" She suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds great,' John replied smiling to himself, 'I'll bring the magazines you left at mine the other day."

"Okay, I got some more today so I'll bring them along too. And I'll print out some of those online reviews."

"Okay, well I better get back to my work if I want any sleep tonight, but I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye John. I love you."

"Love you too." John hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly he got up from the bench and made his way back to 221b, and the mysterious man that awaited him.


	7. Unwelcome Emotions

Chapter Seven

Unwelcome Emotions

Sherlock heard the bang of the front door announcing John's arrival. In the three hours John had been out, he had scoured the flat for nicotine patches, and when he had found none he had given in and gone to the shop to buy some more - making sure he was wearing his helmet so as not to be recognised - and he was now stood before the roaring fire playing his violin which John had thankfully kept and actually taken rather good care of, he had four patches on his arms and his sleeves were rolled up showing then as he played, eyes closed, thinking. He had, of course, texted John several times while he was out, apologising (sort of) and asking (demanding) for him to return, and was Rather hurt when John ignored him. This surprised him. Surely, he Sherlock Holmes, should not feel hurt because his colleague (If that's what John was) didn't reply to his texts, it's not as if John was his boyfriend! At that thought his stomach gave an unusual flipping sensation, that wasn't all together unpleasant.

John entered the room and placed his coat over the back of his armchair. "I texted you, and you didn't reply." Sherlock said mildly, his eyes still shut, not stopping his strokes with the bow over the violin's strings. "I didn't look at my phone. It's not as if I'm your boyfriend so what does it matter?"

Sherlock's stomach gave that funny swooping sensation again, when John said the word boyfriend, and his playing stuttered for a second, but if John noticed he didn't say anything. "Do you have to be my boyfriend,' again the swooping, 'to respond to my texts? You always have before, we're we in a relationship then that I wasn't aware of?" Even though his eyes were closed Sherlock could feel John's glare and thought he heard John mutter "Smart-arse!" Under his breath. Sherlock smiled to himself, stopped playing and opened his eyes. John had his back to him and Sherlock suddenly had the overwhelming urge to walk up behind him, wrap his arms round his waist and press his lips to the soft skin of his neck. Sherlock put a hand to his head and sank into his old armchair. What was happening to him?

After a moment Sherlock had composed himself and decided that until he had found what Moriarty was up to he would push all thoughts of John Watson out of his mind, where they did not serve a purpose in his work. He placed his violin on the coffee table and returned to his brooding.


End file.
